On the Stairs I Smoke a Cigarette Alone / Mexican Kids are Shootin’ Fireworks Below

You know things are good when it feels weird to lose two games in a row. Especially since one of those games was started by Our Man Schilling, who is known to sack up — fortysomething body permitting — when we need it. If we could erase that eighth inning fiasco, in which five Rays crossed the plate, we’d have the makings of a taunt, tense Independence Day matchup, which could have been decided on a three-run job by Manny in the ninth.

But that bottom of the eighth inning did happen, and while there were far worse spankings being administered yesterday, this one pretty much sealed our collective fates.

Listen, I respect the DRays as much as any other team (well, maybe not Milwaukee, but that’s about it), and I’ll admit, yeah, they got them some fine pitchers and hitters over there. But come on. This is like Bryan Singer’s Superman Returns taking on Wes Anderson’s Bottle Rocket. We can chirp and coo over the cute li’l indie film, but at the end of the day, the $300-million behemoth has gotta steamroll everything into fine dust. So I sincerely hope that even as I type these words, Jason Johnson is being fitted for heat-seeking missles, because it’s time to remind everyone that the third best record in baseball don’t come easy.